


Damned If I Do...

by SpangleBangle



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Anxiety, Character Study, Dadmack, Emotional Growth, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, Future Fic, Gen, Introspection, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, all that fun stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 19:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpangleBangle/pseuds/SpangleBangle
Summary: In a few short weeks, Andrew will graduate from PSU. And he has a very important, and very terrifying, decision to make.Exy, or...something else. But what? Does he really want to commit to Exy for the rest of his life? And if not Exy, then what? What is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to want - and how can he possibly choose it?





	Damned If I Do...

Warnings for generalised anxiety and a very brief, non-graphic allusion to suicidal ideation, and some mentions of child neglect.

 

Andrew folded his arms across the knees pulled into his chest, and slowly blinked at the growing pile of envelopes sitting on the coffee table. Coach had dropped off the latest one earlier, and he had refused to touch it since beyond adding it to the collection. He’d been sitting there in silence since dinner. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but it was late enough that everyone had gone to bed. He could barely see the letters in the dim light, but he knew exactly where they were.

He knew, objectively, that he should just open the damn things. That he was being childish and stupid, leaving them unopened, as if hoping they would just melt away and stop being a problem all on their own. Ha. He knew very well how poorly that particular strategy worked.

He frowned at the pile over the barrier of his limbs and fisted his hands in his hoodie sleeves. With every letter added to the pile, the gnawing feeling of dread in his stomach had grown. He hadn’t known how to identify it at first – Bee had been working very hard with him to help identify the physical and psychological symptoms of his reactions and emotions, and how to regulate and navigate them. It was continually exhausting. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever learned these things as a child like others had done; the majority of his foster parents and teachers had opted to ignore him, or ridicule him. He’d watched other kids throw tantrums or make themselves breathless with joy and every extreme mood-swing in the book, and being talked through the process by their parents. He’d watched, not understanding where all the emotion came from, or what the parents meant when they asked _and how do you feel now?_ Or, _it made me sad when you screamed, and that hurt my feelings. Can you imagine how it would make you feel, if someone screamed at you?_ Even as a child Andrew had felt separate, walled-off, from his peers. They were all so noisy and open and living at the whim of fleeting fits of emotion. Whereas Andrew had already learned to stay quiet and unobserved, to keep it all in until it seemed to vanish somewhere deep within, had learned that no one would care if he screamed or cried or broke something in a play for attention, other than to punish. No one had ever sat little Andrew down and told him _the thing you’re feeling is anger. Now, here’s how to express it without hurting yourself or anyone else._

But Bee was helping. He was learning. About two decades later than he should have had to learn, maybe, but he was doing his best.

And dread was a new one on his radar, but he was already becoming familiar with how much he did not like it.

His frown deepened to a scowl as he stared the letters down. He knew they would keep piling up until he made some kind of decision about them. If he decided one way, he could pick one of the senders and post off his own response, and that would be that. If he decided another way, he could throw them all in the shredder and wash his hands of the whole business. But both paths were barred until he actually opened the damn letters.

It was tempting, so tempting, to just let them pile up like fallen leaves until all the deadlines passed him by and the decision was made that way. To choose not to do anything, and reap the consequences. But there was a small part of him that had been trying to grow the past few years, that would be dissatisfied with that course of non-action. It was a part of him that wanted to live and thrive and discover what the future could be; it was the part that had baulked at a more permanent solution to other problems, years ago in Cass’ bathroom with a knife in hand. It was the part that had poked and prodded at him to give Exy a try, to give Kevin’s deal a chance, to try and _want_ for something. It was a stupid, foolish part of himself to be sure, but it had a surprising amount of sway over him even now.

He scrubbed a hoodie-covered hand over his face. Really, it shouldn’t be so hard. He’d known this particular crossroads was coming ever since he joined PSU. Kevin had been badgering him about it since his failed recruitment attempt to Edgar Allen all those years ago, and the intensity of the badgering had increased exponentially each year. Despite Kevin having graduated the previous year, his presence was just as obtrusive and obnoxious over text and phonecalls as he had been in person.

But even after Kevin began to come through on his end of the deal at last three years previous, even after Exy began to have some kind of… appeal to him, he had tried hard not to think about this possibility. It was too big, too unknown, too unmanageable.

It should be a simple decision. Whether to reach back to these professional teams trying to recruit him once he graduated in an alarmingly short few weeks, or whether to burn those bridges forever and turn his back on Exy completely, and find a different direction for his life.

To play, or not to play. Career athlete, or… something else.

He swallowed hard and kept staring at the pile of letters.

He’d never had any idea of what he wanted to do, as an adult. As a child and teenager, his only goal had been to bitterly outlast those who had hurt him, and then to keep his agreements with Aaron and Kevin. He had entertained no other plans about his future – it had all been a big, unfathomable void. Part of him was still surprised he had reached the age of 23 and a half, a fifth-year senior, about to graduate college. That part had always expected he’d end up knifed in an alley someplace before he reached 20, or back in prison for real by now. He’d never expected to _need_ future plans.

And now he did not know what to do.

_Choose us_ , Neil had implored after the mess of Baltimore. He’d suggested Andrew ride the coattails of his and Kevin’s obsession until he found his own motivation and goals. He’d said it so blithely, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, and not a decision that would alter the course of all his subsequent years.

He wasn’t like them. He had never poured his all into the sport. He’d sacrificed plenty for it, sure – but that had always been more about his deals with others. Try, because they needed to last his first year and if they didn’t last Kevin would leave, and he needed Kevin to stay. Stay on the medication, because it was necessary to staying out of prison to keep his deal with Aaron. Allow three goals and defend the rest, because Wymack held an obligation of gratitude over his head. Close out the game, because Neil promised him something worth it in return. He had never chosen Exy purely for itself, it had always just been a better alternative to anything else. But being _better than bad_ did not make it _good_. He couldn’t pretend to love the game like Kevin or Neil. Everything they did – every drill, every extra practice, every meticulous meal plan, every over-analysed old match – it was all for the game. Andrew couldn’t, and wouldn’t, live like that. Not for anything, or anyone.

But what then? If he didn’t choose Exy, what the fuck would he do with his life? He was keenly aware that if he didn’t pick a direction and commit to it, he would likely spiral and self-destruct. He needed a purpose, or, failing that, some kind of occupation. Something to pay for his car and food and electricity and clothes. Something to do with his time that didn’t make him want to commit murder.

But what?

It would be easy, in some ways, to stay the course. To slide into professional Exy. To commit to the sport once and for all. His days wouldn’t change all that much. He knew what to expect. He knew it would pay well. It would keep him close to Neil and Kevin and the other Foxes, as irritating a family as they were. He no longer hated it so vehemently, and could even eke some adrenaline-fuelled enjoyment from it, these days. It would be bearable. It might even, as Kevin kept saying, be fun.

But was that a good enough reason to choose it? And if it stopped being enjoyable again, if it failed to be bearable after all, what then? He had no guarantee he would want to stick with it, if he chose it. And then it would be even harder to find another path, after having wasted so many years on Exy and not developing any other interests or skills, really. He’d tried in his classes only enough to pass them, his diploma wouldn’t be opening many doors for him. And with juvie forever on his personal record, and the easily-found articles about his violence and criminal past, he wasn’t the most appealing prospective employee.

His chest felt almost unbearably tight. He rested his forehead on his arms and forced himself to take shuddering breaths. He liked anxiety even less than dread.

And while Neil might insist it was alright not to know just yet, that he could just see how things turned out, there were 3 factors Neil didn’t know to factor into his assumptions.

Factor #1 – Kevin. Kevin had been the first person to look at Andrew and see someone with a future, worthy of improvement, worthy of development. He had seen something valuable in Andrew, and had not stopped driving him towards that end ever since. Kevin was convinced that Andrew was worth all his attention and badgering, that he could be something great if he only tried. Over the past three years, once Kevin started holding up his end of the deal, Andrew had cautiously come to see that he might not be deluded after all. Andrew was good at Exy. He could be _very_ good if he tried harder. He could reach for the future Kevin wanted for him. But if he was no longer playing with Kevin, would he be able to fake that drive on his own? Kevin was off in Houston on Thea’s team and having a whale of a time, apparently. Playing without him had been jarring, much to Andrew’s surprise and annoyance. Practice felt duller without Kevin there to challenge him, or to pick a fight with. It had started to become a chore again, and Andrew might have backslid even further if it weren’t for factor #2.

Factor #2 – Neil. Andrew was honest enough with himself that he knew he did not want to lose Neil. He wanted Neil, and the slow security of their togetherness. He wanted to keep it, and him, and sometimes the intensity of that want nearly scared him out of his skin. And, as much as he sometimes hated it, Exy and Neil were hopelessly intertwined in both reality and in Andrew’s mind. Even if Neil hadn’t been bound to Exy by Ichirou, he would have chosen it anyway. He was making his life centred around the sport, and would probably have to be dragged kicking and screaming into retirement and old age, whichever came first. He could not have a future with Neil without Exy being some part of it. And, since Neil had first joined the Foxes and irrevocably drawn and kept Andrew’s attention, he had forever changed how Andrew experienced the games. With Neil on court, it was exciting. It was engaging. It was satisfying. With both Kevin and Neil on court, it could very well be something he wanted. But playing without Neil, without either of them – would it still be interesting enough to build his life around? Did he need both of them to stay interested in the game? Did he honestly like the stupid sport enough without them both there in front of him to make it interesting?

He sighed and hunched further in on himself. And then there was factor #3.

Factor #3 – Wymack. Kevin had been the first to see Andrew’s potential, but Wymack had been the one to give him the chance to see it in himself. Wymack had given him, and his family, a home. He had allowed their lawlessness and screwed-up morals to a ridiculous amount. He had insisted on corralling them as a team, and shoving them all together until they started to stitch into a real team, with Neil’s meddling help after a while. Wymack had been the first one to have Andrew’s back, even if it was as simple as letting him crash on his couch or to play sober for a fleeting evening. Despite his policy of not poking into his players’ personal issues, he had always made an effort to make Andrew feel wanted on his line. He’d bent over backwards to accommodate Andrew’s erratic behaviour and dedication, and respected whatever he could get in return. He had defended Andrew to the board and never apparently wavered in his belief that Andrew would be worth the investment. And after Drake’s last assault, Wymack had done what was best for Andrew as a person rather than a player, had been willing to sacrifice the whole season over it, and advocated for his health and privacy and recovery. Andrew knew he should thank Wymack for that, some day. He just… seemed to genuinely, wholeheartedly want the very best for his Foxes, Andrew included. He believed they could have the world, and would do all in his power to make sure they could get it. The first adult to ever want Andrew to aspire to more than he was made by circumstance. He had listened to Kevin, and agreed that Andrew had worth. And he had fought for five long years to try and help Andrew towards that goal, despite being shoved away at every turn by Andrew himself. Not tirelessly, but relentlessly.

Andrew knew that if he did choose Exy, the odds of having a coach like Wymack were vanishingly small. And the odds of ever playing on the same team as Kevin and Neil again were even smaller.

If those three vital factors were taken out of Exy, would it still be worth it to him?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t know.

And if he didn’t choose Exy, the awful void of nothingness was his only other option.

He didn’t know what to do.

He pressed his palms into his eyes and gave a frustrated groan. He had tried to get guidance from Bee, but she had replied that it was a decision he must make on his own, though she was happy to help to coach him emotionally. He didn’t want that right now – he wanted someone to tell him what to pick, and take the awful responsibility of the choice out of his hands.

Kevin had made his opinion abundantly clear. Neil was staying steadfastly neutral and refused to give any concrete opinion, though Andrew knew which direction Neil would like him to lean. Renee had been supportive, but just as unhelpful; though she had at least offered to look through other job options with him, if he turned away from Exy. Aaron was avoiding the subject. Nicky’s advice contradicted itself every ten seconds and only made the muddle worse. It was all very nice that he just wanted Andrew to choose _whatever made him happiest_ , but the problem was that Andrew didn’t fucking know how to choose that. Abby had offered to talk with him, but he’d brushed it off. Bee had suggested using one of the faculty’s guidance counsellors, but the thought of word-vomiting all his personal business to a stranger was repugnant. The others wouldn’t give him unbiased advice, and he knew the betting was getting ridiculous.

He ran his hands into his hair and tried to breathe through clenched teeth. He had no idea what to do. He was good at making decisions to keep other people safe, or to evaluate options for them. He was good at plans, and planning for eventualities, for other people. He had no idea how to plan for himself.

He lurched to his feet, unable to stand sitting there and staring at the stupid fucking pile of mail. He grabbed the lot, shoved them in his pocket, and grabbed his car keys off the table. In a matter of minutes he was on the road and navigating through the campus roads. In a blink, he found Wymack’s door and pounded on it. Old habits, and whatnot.

Wymack scowled down at him through a crack in the door. “What the fuck?” He said tiredly. There were pillow-creases in his cheek and his hair tufted up at one side.

“Tell me what to do,” Andrew grated out.

“What?”

Impatiently, Andrew grabbed a fistful of the letters out of his pocket and waved them in Wymack’s face. “ _Tell me_ ,” he said, the words bending and creaking from the force of his desperation.

Wymack gave him a long, tired look, then opened the door. Andrew pushed past him and threw the letters down on the couch in disgust. Wymack muttered to himself as he turned on lights and started brewing decaf coffee, wandering around in a vest and boxers. Andrew paced jittery circuits around the living room, anxiety roiling in his guts.

“Pick one and I’ll go with it,” Andrew said once Wymack sat down in his squashy armchair with a large cup of coffee cradled in his hands.

“You know, I thought you’d moved past the phase of barging into my apartment at two in the morning,” Wymack remarked as he sipped.

“At least I didn’t break in.”

“Small mercies,” Wymack said with a sardonic tilt of his head. “Now, what the fuck is going on?”

Andrew pointed to the letters. “Tell me what to do.”

“You want me to help you pick a team to sign with? Well shit, I’ve only been offering for the past two months, you could have come by the office in the morning—”

“No,” Andrew said harshly. “Tell me what to _do_.”

Wymack squinted at him for a little while, then his mouth made a small _o_ of understanding. “I won’t make that decision for you, Andrew.”

Andrew snarled incoherently and did another lap of the room on unsteady feet.

“You need to choose this for yourself,” Wymack said, watching him. “If I pick it for you, you’ll resent me for it and hate whatever path you end up on. It has to come from you, from what you want.”

Andrew threw a few curses at him, but Wymack was unmoved and barely blinked at his profanity.

“What’s the real issue here, Andrew? I haven’t seen you this antsy since you got sober.”

Andrew managed to halt his pacing, staring at the letters once more. He forced a few deep breaths and balled his fists into his hoodie pocket. “I am afraid,” he slowly, painfully, admitted, “of the consequences of any choice. I don’t know what to do.”

Wymack’s eyebrows rose a little at Andrew’s honesty, but he didn’t make a big deal of it. “Okay,” he replied calmly. “That’s normal. Andrew, that’s about the most normal thing ever. Every senior on campus has gone through this exact thing. Hell, any adult regularly goes through it.”

Andrew gritted his teeth around his words and tugged absently at his hair, trying to sort his thoughts into order. “This decision,” he bit out, “Whether to go for Exy or not – it will affect everything else. For the rest of my life.” He took a few short, heaving breaths and sat down heavily, staring at the floor. His voice came out tense and scratchy. “I don’t know how to want a future.”

He could feel the sad weight of Wymack’s gaze on his head, but didn’t look up to meet it. “Andrew – fuck, you really think it’ll be that big a decision? I know you’re used to life-or-death kind of shit, but it’s really not that dramatic.”

“This will change _everything_.”

“It’ll change the next five years, maybe ten,” Wymack said blandly. “Not eternity. Nothing except death is that permanent.”

Andrew looked up at that, and it was his turn to squint in confusion. Wymack gave him a humourless smile and leaned back in his chair.

“You think anyone doesn’t fall into their life? Do you think me or Abby or Betsy imagined we’d be where we are now, when we were your age? I tried and failed at about ten different careers before I met Kayleigh, and even then it took a long time to get to where I am now. Nobody has a fixed path in life. It just makes itself up as we go.”

Andrew just blinked, trying to reason through his words. The uneasy whirl of his thoughts had come to a shocked stop at Wymack’s easy take on the whole thing.

“Whatever you choose, at any point in your life, just gets you a few steps along your journey. Then you make other decisions. Maybe you change direction a bit. Maybe you backtrack for a while. Maybe you stay still. Maybe you strike off at a weird tangent. But it’s only a couple steps in the bigger journey, Andrew. If you don’t end up liking the decision you make, you can always choose again later.”

When Andrew stayed silent and staring, Wymack sighed again.

“Look, Andrew. I get that this decision is huge, and scary. Especially for a Fox. It’s hard to let yourself want things when so many things have been denied you. It’s hard to think in the long-term.  So you want some free advice, from an older Fox? Start small. Start really, really small. Build it up one tiny thing at a time, and before you know it you’ll have made lots of decisions without realising. So what’s the first small problem?”

Andrew swallowed a few times and rubbed absently over the knees of his sweatpants. “I don’t know what to do other than Exy. And I don’t know if I’ll enjoy Exy at all without this place. Without Kevin and Neil.”

Wymack nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. Well, logically, you won’t know until you try. If you stay in limbo, you’ll never know.”

Andrew scowled at his feet.

“Andrew. Do you think you want to sign with a professional team?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew said quietly. “It could be – satisfying. But I don’t know if that’s enough.”

Wymack eyed him again for another few minutes. “Well, if it comes right down to it – a professional contract only lasts about a year, two at most. And then it’s up for renewal or you can choose another team. You could always try it for a year, and see where that gets you. If it starts to be immediately awful, you’ll only be tied there for a short year, and you could always negotiate early release. If you do like it, you could keep on with a rolling short-term contract until you decide otherwise.”

Andrew turned his words over like precious stones, examining them from all angles.

“Or,” Wymack continued, “If you don’t choose sports, you could look to your other interests. You like food, cars, personal defence. You could look into teaching any of those, or something in those fields. I’ve heard you’d make a good bartender. You’ve done classes on social work and the justice system during your time here – you could look into interning at a legal company, or working as a children’s advocate or whatever takes your fancy. You could always ask Betsy about her experiences counselling young offenders and what that field is like. You have a fuck-load of potential skills and opportunities, Andrew, and none of them exclude each other. You could always try any or all of them, and figure things out that way. I’ve known plenty of people do the same thing, and they’re all very happy with a patchwork resume and the life it’s given them.” He leaned forward in his chair again, a tired, kind smile tugging at his lips. “You have so many options, Andrew. And I’d bet half my salary you’d be amazing at any of them.”

Andrew’s throat closed up and he went back to staring at his shoes.

“I think that’s all the wisdom I’ll find in this cup of coffee,” Wymack remarked. “Think about it, Andrew.”

“I will,” Andrew managed.

Wymack grunted and settled into his chair, pulling a threadbare blanket over his legs and tilting his head back. “I’m going to nap. Wake me in the event of another existential crisis.”

The glare Andrew levelled at him was weak, but Wymack’s eyes were closed anyway.

He sat and stared at nothing for a long time, listening to Wymack’s vague snores and replaying his advice over and over in his head.

 

When Wymack woke in the morning, he saw Andrew sitting surrounded by opened letters. There were bags under his eyes, and a nervous jitter in his hand. But his gaze was steady. He tapped one letter open by his knee.

“I will call this team.”

Wymack felt a slow smile creep over his face, warmth bubbling away in his chest. “I’m proud of you, you little shit.”

Andrew snorted humourlessly and chewed a little on the inside of his cheek. “It might not stick,” he warned. “I might quit after first practice.”

“You might,” Wymack agreed with a shrug. “I guess we’ll see. You can use my phone if you want.”

Andrew nodded and disappeared off into the study, letter in his trembling hand. Wymack allowed himself five minutes to feel almost sickeningly proud and relieved. He wanted all his Foxes to go on and succeed and take the world by storm – but Andrew especially had had such a hard time getting to this point in his life. When he thought about the apathetic, half-savage kid he’d first met after a high school match, wired off his head on false medication and with a deathwish real enough to taste, and the drugged-up mess that used to break into his apartment and down all his whiskey without getting the slightest bit drunk, rambling on a mile a minute… he was so glad he’d had the opportunity to help that kid get to be the man he was today.

When Andrew re-emerged from the study, he was pale and his mouth was set with nerves. But he met Wymack’s gaze and nodded once.

“They’re going to fax over a provisional contract.”

“Well then,” Wymack smiled, feeling like he might burst from pride. “If you make it to the first match, you’d better get me a VIP seat, you hear?”

“Yes Coach,” Andrew said, with a sarcastic little salute of his fingers.

Wymack laughed tiredly and got up to start making breakfast. “Come on, miseryguts. I feel the need for pancakes. Lots and lots of pancakes.”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night.”

Wymack rolled his eyes but started on the pancake batter anyway. When they each had a plate piled high, Andrew met his eyes almost nonchalantly.

“Thanks, Coach,” he said, as casual as can be. But Wymack knew it was meant as anything but.

“What I’m here for,” he shrugged back. And he knew Andrew understood.

They ate their breakfast in easy silence. The whole time, Wymack was thinking that he was going to miss Andrew, as he missed every Fox that graduated or dropped out. But that he was looking forward to seeing just what Andrew Minyard could make of his life, now he had his feet under him and his hands ready to reach for whatever he wanted. It was sure to be an even more exciting journey than his fast, fleeting years at college were. He couldn’t wait to see it.


End file.
